


Deleted Scenes

by Greyleaf



Category: Person Of Interest - Fandom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-22
Updated: 2012-02-22
Packaged: 2017-10-31 14:10:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/344897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Greyleaf/pseuds/Greyleaf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>‘Scenes’ 1 & 2 happen after ‘Opportunities’ and before ‘Unexpected’, ‘scene’ 3 is a Coda for ‘Unexpected’. Please read those before reading this. Thanks. Oh, and comments always welcome.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Deleted Scenes

Scene #1

 

          In the weeks since meeting her, Finch’s thoughts had turned to Sarah. Numerous times. So when he saw her in the Financial Advice section of the bookstore/coffee shop talking to a clerk, he wasn’t sure if it was really her or just wishful thinking. For one thing, she wasn’t in her grey chauffer livery, dressed instead in dress slacks and a tailored shirt. However, any doubt he had about whether it was her vanished when she smiled.

          Finch would normally be near his computers, waiting for the next number from the machine. Today, though, he’d been restless. In fact, he’d been once again thinking of Sarah, so this chance sighting seemed fortuitous. He didn’t know, however, what to do with it. It wasn’t as if he could ask her out to dinner or a movie.

          Best to take advantage, then, and just enjoy the moment.

          He waited until the clerk left and then walked over to stand next to her. For a moment he just watched her as she examined the book the clerk had helped find. Finch recognized it as a particularly mind-numbing tome concerning investments.

          “Looking for a little light reading?” he asked. He wasn’t sure what to expect, but when she turned and saw who had addressed her, the smile she gave him was warm. He felt his pulse quicken.

          “Finch. Hi.” She looked at him for a moment, smiling. Then, “Oh. The book,” she said, glancing at the large volume in her hand. “It does seem pretty weighty.” She looked back at Finch. “It was recommended by the financial advisor I just met with. But,” she looked skeptically back at the book, hefting it in her hand, “I’d rather pick someone’s brain.”

          He frowned. “Which firm did you see?” Sarah named a company that had an office near the bookstore. He was familiar with them. They weren’t bad, but he thought he knew how they would have regarded Sarah, a single, middle-aged woman with no property and who owned a modest business.

          Finch pulled out a pen and slip of paper. He wrote down a name and phone number and handed it to her. “These advisors might suit you better,” he said as she took the note. “I’ve …had some dealings with them,” he prevaricated. “I’ll let them know to expect your call.”

          Sarah glanced at the paper and looked back at him. “Wow. Thanks.”

She put the book back on the shelf and pocketed the note. “Well,” she said, turning back to him, “This day has definitely taken a turn for the better.”

          Finch nodded. “I believe you’ll find these people to be very helpful.”

Sarah smiled at him. “I meant seeing you again.”

          Surprised, Finch found himself smiling back.

          “So,” she said after a moment, “What brings you here? Looking for something to read?”

          “Actually, I stopped in for a cup of tea.” Finch decided to take the next step. “Care to join me?”

 

 

          They sat at a small table in a quiet corner. Easy to do at this time of the morning, after the breakfast crowd had cleared out and before the lunch traffic started to trickle in. Sarah had asked about his choice of tea. He asked how her business was going. Finch found himself watching her and realizing how much he enjoyed the sound of her voice. And, of course, her smile.

          They hadn’t been talking for long when a chime from the phone in his pocket stopped the conversation. An alert from the machine. Finch refrained from pulling the phone out, but he was aware that his posture had changed at the sound and that Sarah had noticed.

          “That sounded important,” she said, looking at him. “Well I need to get going, too. Thanks for the reference,” she said, “I’ll call them this afternoon for an appointment.”

          Finch nodded. Then, after a minute’s hesitation, “I’ll call you in a couple of days. To see how they worked out for you.”

          Sarah briefly touched the hand he had resting on the table. “That would be nice. I’d like to hear from you.”

 

 

          Finch wasn’t able to call Sarah for almost a week. Reese and he had an unusual number of P.O.I’s in rapid succession. So, when they were able to wrap up one in record time, Finch found himself wanting, no, _needing_ to hear Sarah’s voice. As he called her number he hoped that she wasn’t with a client. He could, of course, have checked to see where she was, but he wanted to keep this from being like one of the cases.

          “Discrete Transportation Services. Sarah speaking.”

          Hearing her voice gave him a sense of peace that had been sorely lacking for the past week.

          “Hello Sarah. It’s Finch.”

          Her voice lost its business tone and gained warmth.

          “Hi. I’m glad you called. I’ve wanted to thank you for recommending that financial planning firm. They were very helpful. Quite a contrast to that first group I went to.”

          Finch felt pleased. “You’re welcome. I’m glad they worked out for you.”

          “They were great, she said. “There was one young woman in particular, Carol, who seemed especially keen on helping me. I’m puzzled though,” she continued. “They said I didn’t owe anything for the consultation. That it had been ‘taken care of’.” She paused. Finch waited. “You didn’t pick up the bill, did you?”

          Finch had not picked up the bill. He owned the company. He had, in fact, hired Carol because of her fervor for helping women in particular, who tended to be discounted by a lot of ‘old boy’ firms.

          But, of course, he couldn’t tell Sarah that.

          “Of course not,” Finch said unhesitatingly, “I’ve done some work for them and they reciprocate with consultations.”

          “Ah.” Sarah sounded unconvinced. “Well, I still owe you.” She paused. “Would it be possible for you to come for dinner?” Finch again felt his pulse quicken. She continued, “I don’t really cook, but I’m pretty mean with a take out menu.”

           Finch hesitated. This was both what he wanted and feared. Getting involved with someone was a luxury he had told himself he couldn’t afford. It wasn’t just the risk of exposure. He wasn’t sure he could handle the emotional risk as well.

           And then, there was the machine.

           Sarah apparently took his silence as reticence. “If you can’t, I understand…”

           Finch took a breath. “No, it’s just…” He stopped, then tried again. “I should let you know that I can’t always be sure of my…schedule. I might have to leave quickly.”

          “I see. Well, I still would like to have you over for dinner. If you have to go, or cancel, that’s okay,” she said. “I can always eat leftovers.”

          What the hell, Finch thought. He wanted to see Sarah again. “I’d love to have dinner with you.”

          “Beautiful. When?”

          “Would tonight be too soon?”

          “No, not at all,” Sarah sounded surprised. “Do you like Italian?”

          “Yes. Do you like red wine?”

           Sarah laughed. He liked her laugh.

           “Definitely. What time?”

           It was just past three o’clock. Sometimes he had only a few hours between numbers. Though most of the time it was a day. To be on the safe side, though, the sooner the better.

           “How about 2 hours?”

           “Perfect,” she said. “I’m guessing you know where I live. Just call from the door when you get here, so I can let you in.”

           “I’m looking forward to it.” Finch had a sudden thought. “Sarah?”

           “Yes?”

           “My first name. It’s Harold.”

          “Harold.” Her voice was soft and warm. “See you in two hours.”

 

 Scene #2

 

          Finch was nervous in a way he hadn’t been for a long time. Which was strange, because when he was around Sarah he felt calm. All the way up in the elevator he told himself it was stupid to feel nervous. Then, just before he knocked on the door, he suddenly had second thoughts about the wine he’d bought.

          The door opened. Sarah smiled at him and the qualms about the wine evaporated.

          “Hi”, they both said at the same time. Her smile broadened and she stepped back to let him in. She closed the door behind him and he turned, holding the wine bottle out to her. She took it and looked at the label. Finch noticed her raised eyebrow. A qualm threatened to return. “I’m sorry. You don’t like that wine?”

          “No, that’s not it. I’ve actually always wanted to try this one.” She looked at him, smiling. “I’ll get this opened.”

          She headed into what he took to be the kitchen. Finch started to follow her when his attention was caught by two things in the living room. The first was that the walls on either side of the entrance to the kitchen had a bookshelf, floor to ceiling, and were full to bursting with books, paperbacks mostly, but also hardbacks, large and small. A few looked to be unread, but most of them showed signs of having been, and some, by their looks, had been read more than once.

          The second was the opposite wall, which was dominated by a flat screen TV, surrounded by electronic equipment: DVD, blue ray, DVR and even a VCR. There were speakers to either side and more mounted to the ceiling.

          Finch didn’t know which way to turn first.

          Sarah reappeared, a glass of wine in each hand.

          “You look surprised,” she said as he took the proffered glass.

          “I’m impressed,” he said.

          She smiled. “Good. With which, though? The books or the entertainment system?”

          Finch looked at her. “Both. And that you have both. Most people would have one or the other.”

          Taking a sip of her wine, she looked pleased.

          “Mind if I look?” Finch asked, gesturing with the wine glass at the whole room.

          “Go ahead. We’re just waiting for the bread to warm up, so we have a few minutes.”

          Finch gave in to the sirens’ call of electronics and went to the wall of machines and then over to the shelf on the adjacent wall that held the movies and music. Sarah had music playing, acoustic guitar, the cover for the disc sitting on top of the others. The contents of another shelf caught his eye.

          “You have video tapes.” Finch observed. Sarah walked over and stood behind him.

          “I have digital copies of most of them.”

          “Good idea. I know some of them…” Finch stopped, his eyes fixed on one of the tape boxes. “This is remarkable.”

          “What is?” she asked. Her breath tickled the back of his neck, momentarily distracting him.

          He pointed to one of the titles. Turning, he looked at her in amazement

          “You have ‘Dark Star’. I haven’t seen that since it was in the theaters.”

          She smiled, looking a little smug. She reached past him to point at another tape. He turned to look where she was pointing. “I have two copies. The Director’s Cut and the Theatrical version.”

          There was a chime from the kitchen. Sarah said in his ear, “If you can tear yourself away from ogling my tapes, dinner is ready.”

          They ate at her small table that sat just to the side of the front door. Dinner was Italian, delivered from the restaurant across the street. The conversation started out about the movie that had captured Finch’s attention and then moved on to other SciFi movies in general then favorite actors, directors. By the time they got to the cannoli, they were discussing the pros and cons of Motion Capture.

          Finch insisted on helping clear the dishes. Sarah didn’t argue.

          They settled on the couch, wine glasses and bottle near at hand. If Sarah noticed that Finch wasn’t drinking much, she didn’t say anything. Finch was enjoying himself for the first time in years, but he was still aware of the need to not loose control. He couldn’t afford to get drunk. Besides, alcohol didn’t mix well with his painkillers. But he didn’t really need the alcohol. He sat on Sarah’s couch, part of him marveling at how well the evening was going. Given he couldn’t discuss his past, his “job” or much else about his personal life he was surprised at how much they had found to talk about. He had no idea where this evening would lead, but for now, he was content.

          In a lull in the conversation, his gaze wandered around the room and it came to rest on a large road atlas of the US. To the side of this were framed photos, several of which looked to be group shots.

          “What’s that?” he asked, nodding toward the map.

          Sarah looked over her shoulder and then turned back to Finch. She was barefoot and had her legs tucked up on the couch. She was wearing jeans and what looked like a man’s shirt, collar open down several inches and the cuffed sleeves rolled up. She ran a hand through her hair and it fell back around her face, a little tousled. All together distracting. Finch had to mentally shake himself to bring his attention back to her answer.

          “The map?” she said. “I’ve marked on it all of the highways I’ve driven on. At one time I had the idea that I would eventually drive on all of them.” Finch raised an eyebrow. “I know,” she said, “Not a very lofty goal. But, it’s one I enjoyed trying to achieve.”

          “I think it’s great.” Sarah looked at him skeptically. “No, really.” He shifted his focus to the pictures. “Are those family photos?” Sarah hadn’t talked about her family, though he knew she had a nephew. That meant at least one sibling.

          “One is. The others are people I worked with. And some travel photos.”

          Finch got up and walked over to look at them more closely.

          “Is this you?” he asked. The image was of a young family, a boy and girl about ten and eight standing in front of what were presumably the parents.

          Sarah got up, wine glass in hand, and padded over to stand next to him.

          “Yes. My brother and parents. I have other pictures, but this was such a classic family portrait I had to put it up.” She continued, pointing out the group photos that were of the co-workers from the shipping company and one from the limo company she worked for before starting her own business.

          Picking Sarah out from that group, he said, “Your hair was shorter then.”

          “Actually it was longer. I wore it pulled back in a tight braid.” She paused. “Man, I’m glad I don’t have to wear that outfit any more.”

          Finch looked again at the picture, saying “Uncomfortable?”

          “No, not really. It was just, I don’t know, kinda Gestapo-ish? It seemed to bring out the pervs.”

          Finch turned back to her, eyebrow raised. She shrugged a what-are-you-going-to-do shrug.

          Looking past her, Finch spotted another photo sitting on top of the subwoofer on the floor. Thinking it odd that it wasn’t on the wall with the others, he walked over and picked it up. It was Sarah, much younger, maybe early twenties, and an older man. Finch looked up to find Sarah looking, not at the photo, but at him. As if she was expecting questions.

          “Old boyfriend,” he said.

          She nodded, her expression unreadable. “He was a vet. Had PTSD. It was…an interesting year.”

          Finch put the photo back. She would probably tell him the story, if he asked. But he felt it didn’t have a happy ending. And he didn’t want to bring up old ghosts, not tonight. He changed the subject.

          So,” he said as they settled back on the couch, “that would have been during your ‘misspent youth’. When you developed your skill for figuring out where people were from by listening to them talk.”

          Sarah laughed. “You remember that?”

          “Of course. It’s a useful skill. I was impressed.”

She shrugged. “Forensic phonetics. They have software for that now.” Her expression changed and he was reminded of the first time they’d met, specifically the moment when she had pinned the rose to his lapel. He wondered what she was thinking.

          “There was another skill I developed.” Finch looked at her expectantly. She smiled her Mona Lisa smile and moved closer to him on the couch. “Give me your hand.”

          She held his left hand in hers, turning it over so that the palm was faced up.

          “Palm reading?” he asked incredulously. “You actually did that?”

          Still holding his hand, she laughed and said, “Yes. But it was for a different reason than the phonetics thing. _That_ I did for money. You know, bar bets,” she said. “‘Palm reading’ was an excuse to get closer to someone.”

          “Ah,” he said as she started to gently stroke his palm, working her way towards the fingers. Fascinated, he said, “I wouldn’t have thought you would have needed to resort to that.”

          She looked up at him, still stroking his hand. “You’re sweet. But like most people at that age, I was inept, insecure and inexperienced. Looking for any trick that would give me...an advantage.”

          Finch was barely hearing what she was saying. He frankly couldn’t believe the sensations she was giving him. She may have been touching his hand, but that wasn’t the only area that was being affected. He cleared his throat. “I’m guessing you had a lot of success with this.”

          Her smile was slow and sensuous. She continued to caress his hand, having worked out to the fingertips. “Then? Not so much. I’ve refined my technique over the years.”

          At that point, Finch wasn’t sure he could trust his voice well enough to speak, even if he knew what to say. Instead, though reluctant to stop what was happening to his left hand, he leaned forward and, very gently, traced his fingers down her neck, starting just below her jaw, down the side of her throat following the edge of her collar down to the first secured button. He felt her pulse quicken and she gave a soft gasp when he unbuttoned the first button and traced down to the next.

          “I hope you don’t have to leave anytime soon.” Her voice was husky.

          “I’m sure I can stay,” he responded, his pulse now pounding.

          “Good. ‘Cause I’m not sure I’d be able to let you leave,” she said, leaning toward him. When she kissed him, he gave up any attempt at restraint. Reaching up he buried his hands in her hair, loosing himself in the warmth and urgency of her kiss.

 

          In her bedroom, they took turns helping each other get undressed, softly kissing each newly uncovered area, but then returning to the other’s lips, each kiss getting more and more passionate.

          There were condoms in the drawer of the nightstand. Finch, not exactly thinking too clearly at this point, was a little nonplussed at the variety of colors, attributes and, according to some of the labels, flavors. Sarah, seeming oddly embarrassed, explained that there had been a sales rep in her office last week who had been going around to the party limo companies in the hope of making some sales. The rep left Sarah the samples, even though she, the rep, knew Sarah wasn’t going to put them in her limos.

          In the end, Finch just grabbed one. 

 

          Later, much later, when they both were languidly kissing, Finch stopped to look at her face, inches from his.

          “What?” she asked curiously, her voice soft and sleepy.

          “I was trying to see your face.” His hand stroked her cheek. “But, I would need my glasses to see you clearly.”

          “You think I’ll look different now?” her tone was teasing.

          He laughed, a surprising thing from him.

          “No,” he said quietly. “I just like looking at you.”

          Sarah got very still. There was enough light coming from the living room that he could tell that she was looking at him. He wondered if he’d said something wrong, but he couldn’t discern her expression. Before he could say anything, she brushed her fingertips lightly down the side of his face and then she kissed him very, very tenderly.

          Finch was overwhelmed by a feeling he thought he’d never feel again. He put his arms around her and they held each other for a long time. 

 

          At some point during the night, when Sarah had gone into the bathroom, Finch retrieved his glasses and phone from where he’d set them on the nightstand and, feeling a little anxious, checked to make sure he’d not missed any alerts or phone calls. There had been, he realized, a fairly lengthy stretch of time where he probably would not have been aware if the roof of the building had caved in, let alone hear the phone. Finding that he hadn’t, he put his glasses and phone back as Sarah came back to bed. As she snuggled up against him, she asked quietly, “Everything still okay?”

          “Yes.”, he said, as he slipped his arm under her head and they both fell asleep. 

 

          The sun wasn’t up yet when Finch started to get dressed. He wanted to go to his place and change clothes before going in to the library. He was buttoning up his shirt when he became aware that Sarah was watching him.

          “I’m sorry,” he said into the quiet of the room. “I didn’t mean to wake you until I was ready to leave.”

          “You didn’t,” she responded. “I don’t sleep very soundly after three.” She got up and, pulling on the shirt she’d had on earlier against the chill of the room, she came to where he was sitting on his side of the bed. She turned on the nightstand lamp and sat next to him, taking over the buttoning of his shirt. Now, with his glasses on, he was able to see her clearly.

          “You don’t have to do that, you know.” He said softly, smiling a little.

          Her smile was the small, secret one that he’d become so fond of. “You don’t have to let me,” she said. “Besides, I helped you get out of your clothes. I can at least help you get back into them again.” She looked at him, pushing her hair back from her face. After a moment, she leaned forward. The kiss started out as tender and then became passionate. They separated, both breathing a little hard and she started to unbutton his shirt again. “Of course, I could help you back out again.”

          He smiled, “Maybe next time.”

          She glanced at him and then resumed the buttoning. “So,” she said softly, “there _will_ be a ‘next time.’”

          Finch, surprised, took her hands in his. She looked at him, her expression a study in composure. “As often as I can. Yes.”

Sarah relaxed a little. Her smile reappeared and then turned somewhat wanton. “Well, good thing I hung on to all of those ‘samples.’”

 

Scene #3

 

          Finch knocked on Sarah’s door, fighting the fear and adrenaline he’d been experiencing since Reese told him she’d been hurt. Reese had told him she would be okay; the injuries weren’t life threatening or permanent. And Reese would know, he told himself. Sarah, too, told him she would be fine, the hospital wasn’t even keeping her for observation. But Finch still had that visceral feeling, as if continuously feeling the floor dropping out from under his feet.

          The door opened and he stepped in quickly, closing it behind him. He turned to look at her. She stood there, favoring her right leg, still in her chauffer livery, her disheveled hair falling a little over her face, obscuring the bruise. She ran her hand through her hair, letting him see more clearly. ‘Bruise’ was too mild a term for the angry red contusion marring the side of her face, covering her left cheek and going up the side of her eye. The lid and cheek were swollen. Finch stepped forward, his hands slowly reaching up, cupping her face. Gently, as if he was afraid of hurting her more, he kissed her. After a moment, her arms went around him, pulling him closer. He wasn’t sure how long they stood there, his cheek against hers.

          Finally, he asked, “Would you like to get cleaned up?” She nodded.  He could tell she was in a lot of pain; normally, she would have made some quip. Helping her take her jacket off, he found the pain medication she’d been given in one of the pockets. He read the label, recognizing the drug. “Have you taken one of these yet?”

          “Yes,” she said, “when I got home. About twenty minutes ago. Not working yet.”

          He helped her out of her clothes and into the shower. After a moment’s thought, Finch removed his clothes and glasses and joined her. Over the past several weeks, they had occasionally showered together with interesting effects, usually ending up with very little washing getting done. This was not his intent this time. Sarah was already a little unsteady and when the pain killer kicked in, this would be amplified. Finch helped her wash, being very careful of the bruised areas on her right hip and thigh. He knew the drugs had kicked in when she started to giggle.

          He got them both dried off, Sarah trying to help, and into bed. She curled up next to him, her head on his shoulder, and almost immediately fell asleep. He held her, thankful to be doing so, trying to ignore all of the what-if scenarios that kept trying to crowd to the front of his brain. During his time with Sarah, he’d found a place, not just physically, but mentally, that was outside the life he had made for himself - a past and present full of pain and painful memories. And the attempts to make things right. He held her in the dark and eventually fell asleep.

          At some point in the wee hours, he woke to her kisses, slow and sleepy, but insistent. Surprised, he laughed.

          “What?” she asked.

          “You sure you want to do this?” he asked.

          She shrugged. “Right now, I feel pretty good, considering. I figure, in the morning I’ll be feeling pretty piss-poor.”

          He looked at her. “It’s morning now.”

          “Well, then, the drugs are still working. But, I know it’ll get worse. So, better take advantage.” She managed, somehow, to crawl on top of him, her hair falling down around her face, and kissed him in that way that made his heart pound.

          They made love slowly and tenderly, adjusting the pillows to accommodate both their infirmities. Their efforts left them gasping and sweaty and they fell asleep, tangled in the covers and each other.

         

          Finch had placed his phone in its usual place next to the bed. Never able to sleep soundly for long, he heard it chime, indicating an alert from the machine.

          Another number.

          He feared he would wake Sarah as he disentangled himself from her, but, though she made some small sound of protest, she didn’t really wake. In the bathroom, he cleaned up in the sink, dressed, and called for the car to pick him up, giving himself enough time to make it to the intersection two blocks away.

          He went back into the bedroom and kissed Sarah awake. He got her to take another pain killer, knowing that she’d have to stay on top of them for best affect.

          The sun was just coming up, but he would be getting to the library later than usual. He called Reese as he walked to meet the limo.

          “We have a new number, Mr. Reese. I’m…running a little late. I’ll be there soon.”

          “Finch…”

          Finch had actually been dreading this. Reese must know about him and Sarah; there was no way Reese would have missed the fact that she had used his first name last night after the assault. Reese probably knew that he’d spent the night at her place. Well, Finch thought to himself, it couldn’t be helped at this point.

          “Finch,” Reese said again. And again he stopped.

          Finch had a flash of irritation at Reese’s hesitation, wishing he’d just say what he was going to and get it over with. Then, Finch realized that Reese was probably wanting to ask how Sarah was doing. He would, naturally, be concerned. But, the question would reveal that he, Reese, knew where Finch had been; reveal that he knew something that Finch had preferred to keep private. Given that, in the past, Reese had delighted in uncovering some new facet to Finch’s private life, Finch was surprised at Rees’s reticence at this moment.

          Surprised and grateful.

          “John, everything’s fine.” Finch’s voice was less terse. “I’ll be there soon.”

   


End file.
